


You Got Me Tripping

by Queerily_kai, sakkakitty



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: But mostly fluff, Canon-Typical Violence, Deaf Clint Barton, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, Little bit of graphic injuries, M/M, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, just a tiny bit of hurt/comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-29 15:46:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20084710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queerily_kai/pseuds/Queerily_kai, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakkakitty/pseuds/sakkakitty
Summary: Repression is Clint's middle name. But all it takes is one little fall for him to realize it also happens to be Bucky's.





	You Got Me Tripping

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all!
> 
> This is our contribution to the 2019 WinterHawk Reverse Big Bang. I personally had a blast writing this fluffy piece for my amazing artist Queerily_kai! (The piece is embedded in the story) Give them some love and check out their other WinterHawk RBB submission as an author!
> 
> And without further ado, please enjoy the story!

When Bucky had joined the team, Clint had barely noticed. 

Well, that wasn’t entirely true; he had noticed, but he hadn’t really cared all that much. He had just been cleared for combat again after his little stint with Loki, and he was more interested in getting back into the swing of things than he was in getting to know his new teammate.

It didn’t help that Barnes had a habit of skulking around the Tower anyways. He was elusive, sticking to the dark corners or lurking in Steve’s shadow. He rarely ate with the rest of the team, and he never showed up to any of the movie nights. Hell, the only way Clint knew the other actually ate was because he saw him eating a spoonful of peanut butter at three in the morning when Clint came down to get something to drink. It was their first and only interaction, that ended with Barnes grunting at him as he disappeared with the spoon in his mouth and the peanut butter jar under his armpit. 

Weirdo.

(But that seemed to be a requirement to join the Avengers, so Clint could hardly judge.)

Aside from that brief encounter that Clint isn’t entirely sure he didn’t dream up, they hadn’t really acknowledged each other, even though they were the snipers. To be fair, Barnes hadn’t really be able to see him in action since he was low-key (high-key) avoiding active duty. 

Until one particular day.

Lucky was something else. Clint could barely take care of himself, so how on earth had he gotten saddled with a dog? And yet, somehow, there he was, taking care of this ugly ass dog with one eye but tons of spirit. He loved people, even though Clint knew his previous owners were complete assholes, so it wasn’t a surprise people liked visiting him. 

Bruce had a habit of coming and sitting with him after a particularly rough transition, claiming that petting him helped lower his heart rate. Thor liked to take him out and wear him out by throwing the ball inhumanly large distances that had Lucky panting by the time he came back with the ball in mouth. Tony, while he loved to complain, liked to shower Lucky with little gifts, making him completely spoiled with the amount of stuffed toys he had on his bed. When Nat was around, she was usually napping, and Lucky liked to curl up right next to her. Steve liked to bring him table scraps, ruffling under his collar and commenting about how he had always wanted a dog.

But Barnes had never visited, and Clint thought he never would. 

That morning, Clint had woken up like usual. The world was muffled, and he felt peaceful, floating on air. He let himself lounge in bed, before forcing himself up to take Lucky out. Or, he would, if Lucky was anywhere to be found. He didn’t panic yet, but he didn’t feel like he could start his day without finding out where Lucky was. 

He fumbled for his hearing aids on the table next to his bed, cursing when he accidentally knocked one to the floor. He grunted as sound rushed in, before he quickly moved to put on sweatpants. At the same time, he directed his voice towards the ceiling, even though he technically didn’t need to. “JARVIS, can you tell me which floor Lucky is on?” he asked as he hopped around on one foot, trying to get his pants on. 

JARVIS paused for a moment, before he spoke, his voice cool. “Lucky is located on the main communal floor, Master Barton.” Clint figured as much, but he didn’t feel like going all the way there without confirmation. “Thanks, J,” he yawned, scratching his bare stomach before heading for the elevator. 

He stepped onto the main floor, clicking his tongue and calling for Lucky as he stretched his arms up. He paused, waiting to hear the rhythmic trot of his dog’s three legged walk, but it was suspiciously silent. It made him frown a little bit; Lucky always came, even if he was with one of the other Avengers. He was just loyal like that. 

He thought that maybe JARVIS had been wrong (unlikely) or perhaps Lucky had left with another Avenger, but as he walked further into the floor, he stopped as he noticed that Lucky was on this particular floor, but was currently on his back and receiving scratches from the Winter Soldier himself. His flesh hand was combing through Lucky’s short hair, but he was watching where Clint was coming from with sharp eyes. Clint blinked at him, then at Lucky, absorbing the situation with a sleep addled brain. After a beat, he let out a sigh from between pursed lips. 

“Wow, I’ve been betrayed by my own dog. Bastard,” he grumbled, watching fondly as Lucky’s tail starting thumping at the sound of his voice, but he still stayed still, whining for more scratches. But Barnes had stopped, looking kind of awkward for an ex-cold-blooded-mercenary. He stared at Clint, and Clint stared back, before he finally spoke, his voice gruff and his words stilted.

“I didn’t realize this was your dog,” he said, sounding like he might apologize, but Clint was already waving him off. 

“Eh, he goes where he wants. And it seems he’s picked a new favorite anyways. No worries,” he said, eyeing Barnes as he turned back to Lucky, who was now nosing his metal hand. Barnes immediately placed his hand back on his head, and Lucky’s eyes closed with contentment as the other patted his head. 

This was the longest conversation he had had with Barnes since he had been here, and it was nothing like he thought their first interaction would be. He thought it would be when Clint was back on active duty, and they were communicating about positions, and maybe Clint would rescue the Howling Commando and fulfill one of his personal dreams as a child when daydreaming about being a hero was the only thing keeping him sane. 

But instead it was about his dog. He found he didn’t mind. 

“You can visit him anytime you want,” Clint found himself saying, much to his surprise. It clearly surprised Barnes too, for he looked up curiously, tilting his head to the side. Clint shrugged nonchalantly, gesturing to Lucky. “It’s clear he likes you, and I can’t be around him all the time,” he said, even though that wasn’t really true. He didn’t have much to do when everyone was off on missions, but he didn’t want to seem pathetic, so he kept it to himself. 

Barnes looked back to Lucky again, and even though he didn’t smile, Clint could see his shoulders soften. “Okay,” he said simply. 

And that was that. 

***

Clint half expected Barnes not to take him up on the offer, but the next day, he was asking to see Lucky, who seemed more than willing to visit with Barnes. Again, Ciint shrugged and waved him towards Lucky, and the other automatically drifted towards him. Clint didn’t think he was going to stay to visit, but he did, sitting on Clints couch, seamingly unbothered by all of the crap strewn around. 

Clint paused for a moment, before he flopped on the couch and threw his legs up on the coffee table. “Anyone show you the Twilight Zone yet?” he asked as he flipped on the TV. Barnes looked over at him with his brows furrowed, and Clint took that as a no, and he silently put it on. Barnes didn’t comment, but Clint could see him turning towards the screen every so often to watch. 

It became something of a thing after that. Barnes would visit Lucky, and Clint would linger and do something near them. He played enough video games in front of Barnes that eventually Clint asked him if he wanted to try. He picked it up quickly, and Clint couldn’t help but feel wildly impressed by how easily he could beat Clint in Smash Bros.

“I feel like you’re cheating. You have to be! There is no way your week of training can beat my years of perfecting this craft, Barnes,” he argued as he lost for the fourth time in a row. 

“Bucky.”’

Clint looked over at him, arching an eyebrow. “Hmm?” he asked, a little preoccupied trying to figure out if choosing another character would give him an edge. 

“You should call me Bucky,” Barnes- Bucky- repeated, and Clint blinked at him, before he nodded slowly.

“Alright. Bucky. Got it,” he said. He felt like something changed, acknowledging Bucky with that nickname. LIke they were friends or something. It was… nice. 

But getting his ass kicked again wasn’t as fun. 

***

Getting put back on the roster was both jarring and yet completely expected. He had done what he needed to do in order to be cleared; it was now more about sitting around waiting until he felt like he deserved to be back on. There was something that itched under his skin every time he thought about all of those innocent agents he killed, like he doesn’t deserve to be out in the field since they’ll never get that chance again.

Steve was patient with his flimsy excuses as to why it would be best if he sat this one out with Bruce, or “but I was just about to crack the wiring for this new sonic arrow”. But patience only went so far, and with Dr. Doom deciding to try and give them a run for their money near every day for the past two weeks, Steve’s tolerance was starting to thin. All it took was one of his trademarks disappointed looks as Clint opened his mouth to dodge duty again, before he realized that it was time to stop running and face this unsettling fear of his. 

It helped slightly that Clint knew Bucky a bit better, if only because he lingered over him like an oppressive shadow that would be suffocating if Clint wasn’t feeling a touch all over the place. Clint knew the things the Winter Soldier had done, both through records and from what Nat wanted to share from her past, and if Bucky could buckle down (Clint almost hated himself for that one) and get out there, then dammit, so could Clint. 

Bucky was quiet as he slid his mask over his face while Clint slung his quiver over his shoulder, but he finally broke the silence as Clint unsnapped his bow and looked at it both reverent and a touch sick.

“Hopefully you’re better on the field then in the games you play.”

It was delivered with such a blunt and monotone voice that if Clint hadn’t known a thing about Bucky he would probably feel insulted. But there was no growl in Bucky’s voice, and while his eyebrows remained furrowed, there was a softness to his eyes as he spoke that belayed his teasing. The subtle expression was so painfully Bucky, and it made something delicate in his stomach flip flop, much to his horror. 

Clint quickly scoffed and rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck and shaking out what were probably nerves making him feel funny. He quirked his own eyebrow at Bucky and crossed his arms. “Guess we’ll just have to see,” he said, watching as Steve and Tony finally came through the door to the hanger, deep in conversation as they headed towards the Quinjet. Clint quickly looked back at Bucky and grinned mischievously. 

“Whoever knocks down the most bots gets the last of Bruce’s banana bread when we get back,” Clint said in a conspiratorial whisper. Bruce’s baking was legendary, and while it might be considered cheating in a way, he usually ended up stuffing some of his goodies away for later, knowing that they would never last a whole night in the Tower, especially if Thor was there. 

Bucky’s expression morphed from surprise, to a fiery look of determination. Bucky didn’t do anything by halves, and it was the same expression he wore whether he was shooting bots out of the sky or trying to beat Clint at Monopoly. It was strangely endearing, and he couldn’t help but snort. 

“You’re on,” he growled out, before he marched into the Quinjet after Steve, who had glanced at Clint with approval before boarding. Clint chuckled a little bit as he walked up the ramp onto the ship, willing his nerves to calm. If he just thought about it like a competition, then the pressure would probably be less. Right?

Right.

***

Well, right and wrong. 

Wrong because it was stressful. Every flash of blue light had his heart pounding in his chest, half waiting for blue to fill his entire vision and his body be taken from his control. 

But for every lurch of his heart, there was a small thrill when his arrows flew true, easing the fear of losing his touch that Clint didn’t even know he had until it was proven wrong. Every so often he would catch sight of Bucky on another rooftop, taking careful, but quick aim and he would be filled with the desire to win his sweet sweet banana bread, and the absurdity of thinking such a thing while in combat had him giggling a little bit.

So a mixed bag. 

Oh, and he lost. 

“You suck,” Clint said mournfully as he watched Bucky shove a whole slice of bread in his mouth. Bucky looked back at him as he chewed, and the corners of his mouth quirked up in a smirk that had Clint scowling harder. 

“No I don’t. Or you would’ve won,” he said after he had swallowed, breaking off a tiny hunk of the last slice and feeding it to Lucky, who had been begging at his feet since he had started. Clint let out an enraged sound, staring first at Lucky, and then Bucky with betrayal. 

“You both suck,” he huffed, and Bucky shrugged, but didn’t elaborate, and Clint pursed his lips and settled back onto the sofa. If they wanted to be that way, fine. If Clint had won he would’ve shared. (No he wouldn’t’ve.)

His couch had never been the most comfortable thing, but all of a sudden if felt like the sofa in the common room; so pleasantly comfy that no one could resist the allure of it. With the sound of Lucky’s tail thumping on the ground and the warmth radiating from beside him, it felt like something close to home-

It wasn’t until he was waking up suddenly that he realized he had somehow drifted off right next to Bucky while he was eating. But the other was gone by now, and Lucky was sleeping on his bed in the corner. He rubbed at his eyes, mildly surprised by how tiring his first outing back at been, before he spotted something sitting on the end table. 

A quarter of the last slice of the bread was sitting in the plastic bag on the end table, and Clint’s stomach lurched again with a warm slightly nauseating feeling that was followed up by a quick chill of dread. He sucked in a surprised breath as a jolt of realization shivered down his spine suddenly. He covered his face with his hands and groaned.

Awh, futz.

***

This newfound development wasn’t so much devastating as it was annoying and inconvenient. In fact, a lot of things didn’t change, which was not what he was expecting in the least. He was expecting to feel flustered and dazed and weak, unable to stop thinking about what he had realized as soon as he saw Bucky again. 

But Clint wasn’t a teenage protagonist of a bad rom-com, and Bucky wasn’t some dashing prince. It was more subtle. There were sudden intrusive thoughts that would niggle at him at odd times, but were relatively harmless. Relatively being the operative word. 

_Push his hair back,_ his mind sang as strands of Bucky’s hair fell out of his bun and in his face as they were practicing together on the range.

_Grab his hand,_ it whispered as they stood shoulder to shoulder in the elevator down to the common room at the wee hours of the morning to grab snacks.

_Kiss him,_ was the most traitorous thought of all that happened at the most inane and, in Clint’s personal opinion, unwarranted moments. It was rarely when Bucky was looking particularly striking, which usually happened in the heat of battle or as he played with Lucky, but more often when Clint was most off guard. 

One particular instance sticks out in his mind. He’d been watching Bucky grumble into his cereal as he ate in the morning, and Clint was struck with the impulse to kiss the furrow in between his brows. It was disgustingly sappy, even for him, and he reflexively screwed his face up in a sneer, which Bucky picked up on and glared, as if it were aimed at him. Clint wanted to correct him, but instead found himself giving the other a shit eating grin, just to piss him off, and sure enough Bucky rolled his eyes and dipped his head lower to his bowl as the others started filtering in.

Worse still, Natasha caught his pensive look once, and Clint knew it was all over as soon as she met his eyes across the room. Yeah, okay, so Clint was low key watching Bucky while they were having a movie night, but it was only so he could laugh at him when he got irrationally upset over a cartoon (he still wasn’t over The Lion King.)

But it was hardly like Clint could convey that to Natasha in a room full of people, and afterwards, all she did was hum at him as she helped him put all of the popcorn bowls away. He had half a mind to bluster, but he knew that wouldn’t help; once Nat figured something out, she didn’t let go. So he simply grunted at her, scowling hard. She laughed at him and kissed his cheek, leaving without another word, but Clint knew he was found out at least one person. Hopefully the only person. 

And yet, despite how mildly embarrassed he was at himself, he didn’t particularly bother him. Bucky was his friend. He had eaten a whole can of Cheese Whiz because Clint had prodded him into it, and he’d do it again whether Clint could figure out his own feelings or not. And that was all that really mattered to him, when it came down to it.

***

It wasn’t like there was much time to think about it anyways. With Dr. Doom sightings and attacks on the rise, and the rest of the world still deciding to throw equal amounts of shit at them at the same time, there wasn’t a whole lot to do but fight, eat and rest. It was getting exhausting, all things considered.

“Ug, god, I’m so tired I’m not tired,” Clint complained as they sat in his common room late into the evening. He had been hit by a rock in the battle and there was an uncomfortable bruise pressed into his hip that made it hard for him to get comfortable on his seat on the couch. Bucky sat across from him, his legs folded as he held his cards to his chest.

He grunted to show that he had heard what Clint had said, but didn’t comment. Not that Clint minded; he knew how Bucky got when he was tired either from battle or nightmares, even though they don’t really talk about the first, and never, ever touch the second. There were just some things that they knew about each other that didn’t need to be said. And maybe that was what made it so easy to be near Bucky.

There wasn’t any pity, but there wasn’t any fear either. Just understanding. Understanding that they had both been used and violated in a unique way that very few others would understand. Even though Natasha was a by-product of the same system Bucky was in, her brainwashing was different, and something that she would never find solace in with Bucky in just about any circumstances. 

No one blamed her for it. 

“Go fish,” Bucky grunted, and Clint groaned, but did as he was told. He inspected his cards as though he was making a decision, but he couldn’t help but look up at Bucky’s face as he did so. Bucky was completely immersed in the game, giving it his whole attention as if his life depended on it. It was just a stupid game of go fish Clint had pushed him into when he realized he wasn’t gong to be getting any sleep soon. But it was endearing, and Clint was glad that for the most part, Bucky was probably just naturally awake thanks to the serum. Bucky rarely slept on good days; he was similar to Steve like that, and even though the serum didn’t completely work on him, there were still some benefits(?) he had gained. 

As Bucky stared at his cards, Clint watched as another stray strand of hair floated down to join the others framing the sides of his face in a rather unkempt way. It made Clint wonder if Bucky even knew how to take care of all of that hair of his, and it was enough of a distraction that he found himself subconsciously moving to tuck his hair behind his ear.

It was only when his knuckles brushed the scruff of Bucky's cheek that he seemed to realize what the hell he was doing, and quickly snatched his hand back. Bucky was looking at him carefully, his eyes focused and calculating, and with a small rush of heat under his collar, Clint realized that Bucky let him do that. That he could’ve with all rights smacked or grabbed his wrist, but he had let it happen. He wasn’t sure what to do with that information, or the way Bucky was looking at him.

The moment stretched and shifted, formed something that Clint really didn’t want to look at or acknowledge, especially with Bucky watching him like he was. He gave himself a little shake and quickly folded his cards down and stretched, letting his eyes glide away from Bucky’s face so he wouldn’t have to look at him anymore. “I must be more tired than I thought,” he said lamely to the continued silence that had gotten just a touch heavy. The sound of his voice seemed to break the atmosphere a little bit, and Bucky blinked, before sitting back and placing his own cards back down on the table.

“You’re forfeiting?” he asked with a touch of both disbelief and just a hint of ribbing hidden underneath it, his eyebrow quirking up a little bit, and Clint scowled at him. Clint hated that somehow he and Bucky were equally competitive, because now he half wanted to sit down and finish what they had started.

But he could still feel the scrap of Bucky’s unkempt stubble on the back of his knuckles, so he swallowed his pride and shrugged. “Guess so. ‘S fine though, I’ll kick your ass next time, gramps,” he said easily, and for just a fraction of a moment, something similar to concern flared up on Bucky’s face, but it was gone before Clint could really check to see if he had seen it. 

“‘Kay. Good night then,” he said, sitting for one moment longer, giving Clint a calculating look, before he stood and made his way to the elevator, patting Lucky’s head as he did so. As soon as the doors slid shut, Clint sank back into the couch and groaned low in his throat. Not even Lucky nosing him helped with his embarrassment. 

This whole feelings thing was getting way out of hand. 

***

“Cap! On your left!”

“Six o’clock Ironman!”

Clint was sweating, his arms still holding steady, but he was beginning to feel them burning. He had been counting his arrows, and he was starting to get nervous. He had plenty, but based on how this skirmish was going, he might be up shits creek. He wasn’t able to keep up, even with Bucky helping out. They were situated on opposite sides of the tallest tower in the area, shouting out commands for those who didn’t have the eyes that they did. 

“Where the hell are they all coming from?” Tony demanded over the coms, his voice strained as he grappled with a humanoid robot who seemed to match his own suit’s likeness. Clint didn’t have an answer, but he needed one fast. His eyes scanned the field, eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary even as he continued to cover for his team mates.

He couldn’t see where they were coming from, but perhaps if there was something like a tower nearby that the signal was coming from, maybe they could-

There. 

It was so small compared to how many there were. Even more strangely, there didn’t seem to be anyone guarding it or controlling it as it sat in the opposing building. He could just barely make out the antenna through the window, glowing a sickly green color that seemed to match the green of the lights on the droids. 

“Ironman, top building to your right. Look important?” he asked, holding his tongue between his teeth as he gave Tony cover to inspect what he had found. He watched as he found the antenna, before he shrugged, clearly visible even from a hundred feet away.

“Worth a shot,” he commented back. “Maybe the 9 to 5ers will even thank us for this,” he said as he lifted a hand and shot a beam through the window. The explosion rocked the ground and the glass blew out in the surrounding area. After the explosion, there was a strange silence, before suddenly every bot’s light went out (success!!) before beginning to plummet from the air.

Clint yelped as he rolled out of the way of a droid who crashed into a heap right next to him. Clint watched over the side of the building as Cap held his shield up to protect him from debris, Nat taking up space behind him. Tony and Thor were easily batting the remaining bots out of the way, and Hulk wasn’t even phased. That just left-

Of course Bucky was easily able to dodge the falling debris. But there was that split second where he ducked his head to check on Steve, leaving his back vulnerable. Not that anyone would attack, of course, but that didn’t mean shit wasn’t happening. I.e, the fact that this buildings smoke stack was finally giving in to the abuse received by both the attack and the subsequent fall. 

Clint wasn’t sure why, but he just knew shouting would talk longer than acting, and before he realized what he was doing, he was launching himself at Bucky and tackling him out of the way. Which worked, but it did not stop the roof from collapsing underneath them. Bucky landed on top of him, knocking the wind out of him and more, but that was secondary to the familiar crunching feeling in his shin and ankle. He let out a slew of curses, realizing that his aids had been knocked from his ears when he couldn’t hear his voice properly. 

Clint’s head was swimming with the pain of the fall and the pressure on his chest from Bucky, who had crawled off of him and was holding his metal arm to his chest, but clearly chewing into him, his expression scrunched. He couldn’t see his lips, so it was a moot point, but he still grinned a little shit eating grin even as he felt his vision starting to blur at the edges. He pointed to his ears, and Bucky came up short, and in the space between his surprise and his next immediate action into searching for them, Clint promptly passed out. 

***

Clint couldn’t hear the beeping of that obnoxious heart reader when he woke up, but he knew exactly where he was by the scrap of the shitty sheets under his back. He grimaced, unsurprised to find himself here as he blinked his eyes open. He automatically focused on Natasha’s face, calm and free of concern. Mm, then it wasn’t that bad. 

That was good, because he had a feeling Bucky would never let him live it down if something actually horrible had happened while he was trying to save a super soldier that was twice as likely to survive anything that could come his way than Clint himself was. He couldn’t help it though. He had seen what was going to happen and acted. He wouldn’t apologize for it. 

Nat watched him for a moment, and Clint gave her a sheepish smile before signing, ‘What’s my prognosis doc?'

She arched one eyebrow at him, taking her sweet time to sign back, 'You’re ankle is broken. And you’re an idiot.’ Clint just smiled and shrugged at that, as if to say “obviously.” Natasha’s lips twitched with amusement, before she rolled her eyes, leaning over in her chair to kiss his cheek, her way to convey that she was still relieved he was alright, even if it really was just a measly broken ankle. 

Clint hummed, before he scratched his cheek, signing, ‘And Bucky? How is he?’ Nat seemed unsurprised that he asked, instead just a touch amused, but she didn’t say anything, probably taking pity because of his injury. Instead of answering, however, she held out his hearing aids to him and stood up, nodding her head towards the door, before sauntering out. Clint felt like calling out to her as he fit his hearing aids in, the shrill beep of the machine instantly irritating him, but the desire was sucked out of him as Bucky filed into the open door, freezing as he realized Clint was awake. 

Clint blinked at him, suddenly realizing how nervous he felt. For as much smack as he talked about doing it over again, he felt like he was about to get his ass chewed. And he certainly wasn’t wrong. 

“What the hell were you thinking?” Bucky growled out immediately, and Clint huffed. 

C'mon, can’t you give me like, three minutes to be awake before you start getting pissy,” he grumbled back, turning his head to the side so he wouldn’t have to meet Bucky’s eye. He was worried what the other might see if he looked. Would he see the residual burst of fear he had felt seeing that stack about to crash down onto him? Would he see what Clint was constantly trying to smother as to not make things unbearably weird between them? 

Of course, Bucky, being the obstinate ass that he was, simply stood in front of him, towering over him with crossed arms like some sort of disappointed teacher. Well, if grade school teachers looked like beefy ex-assassin whose disappointed expression was also murderous. Or well, it was more liked he tried to cross his arms. 

Because one was missing. 

Where there was one a smooth expanse of metal making up Bucky's arm, it was now in two separate pieces. There were free wires hanging from the stump, and Clint felt nauseous just looking at it, the sight making him feel dizzy. 

"Okay, are we just going to ignore that?" he asked, gesturing to Bucky's arm pointedly. If anyone said his voice sounded shrill, he would vehemently deny it. 

And oh so true to Bucky, he completely ignored him, setting his arm part on the side table and Clint made a point of not looking at it. “You shouldn’t’ve done that,” Bucky pressed on, standing stock still and steady, and Clint groaned, swiping a hand down his face, still trying to wipe out the fuzziness from the painkillers, sleep, and the mild horror of seeing Bucky's mutilated arm. 

“How long have I been out?” Clint asked instead, giving Bucky a cheeky smile as the other’s jaw twitched with irritation. Well, two could play at that game. Instead of discouraging Bucky from pressing and maybe even giving him the desire to leave, it simply made him plop down in the chair next to him and scoot forwards, never breaking eye contact. The gesture surprised Clint a little bit, evaporating the next snarky quip before it could even start forming. 

“Four hours; what the hell went on up in that thick skull of yours? You know I would’ve survived that,” he said, easily brushing past Clint’s attempts at deflection. Since when had it been so hard to bullshit Bucky? He really wasn’t giving, and it was making Clint’s life much harder than he personally thought it should be. 

“What, just because you would survive just meant I shouldn’t’ve helped you?” Clint asked, furrowing his eyebrows; if Bucky wanted a fight, Clint would give him one. He knew all about the self sacrificing BS, and personally, he wasn’t a fan. “And besides, clearly I survived too.” Bucky’s expression darkened further, and Clint traitorously thought it was quite a good look on him. 

“I could survive it; you might not have,” Bucky insisted, and Clint couldn’t help but burst into laughter. Bucky looked surprised at the laughter, before quickly disgruntled, which only made Clint giggle harder, shaking his head.

“Bucky, my ankle is broken, that’s it. I only passed out because of shock, probably. I’ve put myself in way worse situations,” he said, still grinning. It wasn’t perhaps the best defense, but it made more sense then whatever Bucky had just said. Not survive it; like hell, Clint was as resilient as a cockroach. Nat would argue as pesky as one too. 

"And might I add, you literally lost your arm. Your very important, very well built metal arm. What would've happened if I didn't step in. Would it have been worse?" he asked, and while it was meant to be a catch twenty-two, it felt more like a realization on his own part, and he felt his breath catch. He was doubly sure that what he had done was the right thing all of a sudden.

"It's just an arm; it's not even real," he said dismissively, and Clint blinked at him in surprise, before he shook his head. 

"Neither are my hearing aids, but if I lost them or really fucked them up, don't you think I'd be at least a little upset?" he countered, and Bucky's lips thinned. Clint could tell that he wanted to say something about how it wasn't the same, but it seemed the severity of his own gaze prevented him from opening his mouth. 

Instead, Bucky continued to look angsty and upset instead of talking. Which wasn't much better. Clint huffed out a sigh. “C’mon, man, this comes with the territory. Were you really worried I was gonna die? From that? That’s not my style, you know that,” he said, trying for soothing, but all it did was make Bucky shake his head with frustration. 

“It’s not just about- how can you be- you don’t understand,” Bucky said, and Clint couldn’t help but marvel both at how much Bucky was saying and how ineloquently he was saying it. Bucky didn’t say much, but he usually already had all of his words together and measured out before he spoke. Clint had a dawning realization that this was really messing with Bucky.

“Then help me understand,” Clint said finally, resigning himself to the fact that Bucky needed to get whatever it was off of his chest, even if it meant getting put on blast about it. But as soon as Clint seemed to give Bucky the floor, he looked startled and then uncertain. It was barely noticeable, but Clint had gotten good at reading Bucky’s tells, and right now, he looked unsettled. 

He was quiet for a long while, and Clint watched him patiently as he seemed to fight with himself for a moment, before to Clint’s surprise, Bucky’s flesh hand came up and snatched Clint’s off of the bed and clasped it in his own.

Clint’s mouth fell open a little bit, and he blinked slowly at their hands, before he turned his gaze back up to Bucky, who was resolutely staring at their hands instead of meeting his eyes, something like a little flush beginning to bloom over his nose. The sight of it had Clint flushing in a very unflattering way, turning the tips of his ears pink. 

Well then. 

See, Clint knew what touch meant to Bucky. It was something that he was very tactile with. He didn’t just touch people. He dodged Thor’s attempts at friendly back pats and warrior hugs in a way that didn’t offend Thor but made sure he was out of the way of it. He and Bruce both seemed to understand the desire for distance, and when together, were often seen drinking tea in silence. He and Nat never interacted. They were like two rival cats who inhabited the same home, but never spoke or acknowledged one another due to murky history. It was similar with Tony, only they made more of an effort with each other because of Steve, who always looked so happy when Bucky and Tony were engaged in a mildly uncomfortable conversation while Tony was working on his arm. 

Naturally, Bucky was the most comfortable around Steve. He accepted his friendly claps on the back, tolerated the assessing pat downs, even reached out to do the same. Shoulder nudges and jabbing elbows and friendly wrestling. That was Bucky and Steve. Friends, even with the passage of time and the weight of history. 

But it was in this moment Clint realized just how much he touched Bucky too. He thought about the way Bucky let him brush his hair back, let his fingers touch his cheek. The way their hands touched over top of Lucky on accident in a way that couldn’t be an accident because accidents like that just don’t happen with Bucky. Bucky tucking his toes under his thighs while they watch the Bachelor in silence, or the way he flicks his forehead when he does something particularly risky but pulls it off. 

And he suddenly feels very very dumb. 

“Oh,” he said, and Bucky’s shoulders climb a little higher up to his ears, that tiny flush starting to brighten. “Oh. Um, okay,” he said, his mouth dry, before he felt himself moving his other hand to cover Bucky’s. Bucky looked up sharply as he squeezed his hand, his eyes widening a little bit. Clint offered him a weak smile that he didn’t return, but Clint could see something in his eyes relax, the lines of his face fading some. 

Someone cleared their throat and the both of them yanked their hands away from each other as if they had just been caught with their hands down the other’s pants. Bruce was watching them with an amused knowing look, but didn’t say anything about it, instead tapping his clipboard on the edge of his bed.

“Nice to see you up Clint. Nothing too serious, but you’re gonna have to stay off that foot for a couple of weeks. I’ve already got some crutches for you, and you’re gonna be off the field for a little, but I doubt we can keep you out anyways,” Bruce said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, before he nodded his head to the side table, where a box sat. “They’re foldable, Stark Tech. Tony will want to know how they work,” he said, his eyes drifting to the box, before to Bucky and then back to him. "I'd tell you to go see Tony about your arm, Bucky, but considering you've been stalking outside of Clint's room for the past four hours, we aren't going to be able to get you down there now." The corner of his mouth twitched up again, and Clint felt himself beginning to flush again; he didn't even want to know what Bucky's face looked like.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it then,” Bruce said after a couple of excruciating seconds. As the door clicked shut behind him, Clint made a point not to look at Bucky, biting his cheek. It felt awkward now, with so many things unsaid between them, the only understanding being the returned touch. But Clint was not going to do any talking while these sheets were rubbing against his back, so he cleared his throat and impatiently took out his IV.

“I hate the sick bay, let’s get the fuck out of here.”

***

The elevator ride up to his floor was suffocating. 

Clint couldn’t decide if he was supposed to reach out to Bucky, or say something, but everytime he thought about doing so, he would think about how bizarre that would be and keep his hands to himself. Besides, it would be rather hard to reach out when he was using crutches to stand and move. It felt like a flimsy excuse to himself, and he would’ve groaned aloud if he were alone. 

He could face down danger every day, but facing Bucky after whatever had happened was something he was too cowardly to do.

Lucky was laying in front of the elevator when the doors opened, and immediately his tail started to wag, thumping against the ground. He stumbled up onto his legs and ran around them in a small circle, whining excitedly. Bucky chuckled softly, the sound fond and warm as he ruffled the fur on top of Lucky’s head. Clint felt something affectionate well up inside of him at the sight and he forced himself to hobble to the couch; that was too much to deal with. There was something brewing between them that Clint hadn’t ever thought was possible, and he wasn’t sure how to deal with it. 

He set the crutches on the side and flopped back onto the couch dramatically. Immediately, Lucky turned away from Bucky and vaulted onto the couch, attempting to lick Clint’s face with a single minded passion. Clint snorted and pushed the dogs snout away, but not before scratching under his chin and kissing his nose. “You’re so needy,” he cooed softly, before looking up as Bucky snorted. He was standing by the couch, and a fond expression on his face that seemed to disappear as soon as Clint saw it. It had the back of his neck heating, and he looked away towards the blank TV.

The silence settled over them again, but Clint wasn’t able to take it this time. “TV! We should watch TV. To relax. And stuff.” He fumbled for the remote, knocking over the pizza they were eating before they were called to the hanger. He didn’t bother with it, and Bucky didn’t either as Clint flipped on the television, setting it to a random show and settling back. He heard Bucky toss his other arm onto the coffee table, and Clint pretended like he didn't hear it at all. He still didn't understand how Bucky could be so careless with it, but then he remembered stepping on his hearing aids multiple times or throwing them away in the trash on the off chance he tidied up, and he understood just a little bit better. 

However, setting his arm down did not stop the fact that Bucky was still hovering, and Clint could feel his eyes burning into the side of his face. He could only pretend so long that Bucky wasn’t acting strange before he turned and met his eyes. Something shook loose at the expression on Bucky’s face. Half wistful, half nervous, all around handsome. It made his stomach lurch and his hand burn with the phantom touch of Bucky’s hand enfolding his. 

Clint squirmed for a moment, before he sighed softly. Bucky had taken the first real step towards… well, whatever the hell this was. Maybe it was time for Clint to gather up some god damn courage and reach back. But hell it was scary, way more scary than falling through a ceiling. 

He set his healthy leg down, before gesturing for Bucky to come closer. Bucky tilted his head to the side, his eyes narrowing with confusion, and Clint huffed. “Get over here, old man, before I change my mind,” he grumbled, pointedly ignoring Bucky’s surprised look before he did as he was told. But Bucky just had to make it awkward again by just standing in the V of his legs and not doing anything, which was giving him horrible ideas that he really didn’t want to deal with right now. 

“You’re hopeless, man. Hopeless,” Clint said gruffly, shifting his leg further onto the couch before reaching out and taking Bucky’s hand, pulling him down with a sharp tug until he fell forward onto Clint. It knocked the breath out of him (Clint had forgotten how heavy Bucky was), and it was much less romantic or life changing as he was anticipating, but could he have really expected anything more? It was Bucky, no matter how they worked together, it just seemed… natural.

Bucky might be heavy, but he was warm, and muscular and familiar. Clint felt him shift a little bit, clearly unused to being so close to someone for so long, but after a little wiggling, he ended up cradled perfectly with Clint, a mess of limbs that shouldn’t work, but did. 

Bucky’s head rose and fell with Clint’s chest, and he was hit by another surge of affection that had his hand coming up to card through Bucky’s hair. Bucky froze at that, and Clint wondered for a split second if he had taken it too far, but then Bucky seemed to melt, becoming practically boneless. He let out a heavy breath through his nose, not unlike a sigh Lucky might give as he curled his good arm around Clint’s waist.

There was a lump forming in his throat and he cursed himself for it. There was no reason to get this emotional about something like this, for Christ’s sake. But at the same time, Clint knew Bucky, so he knew how meaningful it was that he was making himself so vulnerable to Clint. Not just physically, but emotionally too. For a brainwashed agent of Hydra who has had to crawl his way back to humanity, he was doing far better than Clint was, taking far more risks. 

But Clint understood that too. When you know what it’s like to lose everything, sometimes it makes it easy to go out on a limb. Clint curled his fingers into Bucky’s hair and thanked everything that Bucky had more balls than him, because this nameless thing between them right now wasn’t something he would want to give up now that he has it. 

They fit together, against all odds. They’d have to talk about his at some point, but for the moment, Clint was content just lying here with him while the TV played softly in the background. He could feel his eyes getting heavy, lulled by the rhythm of Bucky’s breathing. 

***

When Clint woke up, the first thing he noticed was that he had slept with his hearing aids in. He could tell by the dull ache in his ears that made him groan a little bit in annoyance. Naturally, he was then alerted to the awful crick in his neck, due to sleeping on the couch in this strange tangled up position. It took him a few more moments to catch up on why, exactly, he would be on the couch twisted up in a pretzel like position, before he then finally noticed the soft huffs of breath against his neck. 

He immediately opened his eyes as memories of the night prior flooded in. His hand was still resting in Bucky’s hair, and Bucky was resting with his eyes closed on Clint’s chest. He could tell the other was awake by his breathing, and sure enough, Bucky opened his eyes not a moment later, immediately catching Clint’s.

They stared at each other in silence for a moment, each seeming to size the other up. There was something in Bucky’s expression that seemed to be trying to give him a pass, and while he was floating in uncharted territory now, he found he didn’t want to take that pass. He was tired of being cowardly about this, so in response, he simply combed his fingers through Bucky’s hair, allowing his fingernails to scrap his scalp gently. 

Bucky let out a tiny noise, his eyes going to slits, and it was so cat like that Clint let out a soft chuckle, yelping with Bucky pinched his hip in retaliation. Still such a little shit, even when allowing himself to be vulnerable in Clint’s arms. 

They laid like that for a little while, long enough that Clint had no idea how much time had passed, but neither of them seemed in a hurry to move. It was lazy, but he felt content. Safe, even though distantly he could feel his abused body aching from the fight yesterday. He felt like perhaps they should talk about this, about what they were, what this meant, but he it almost felt like they didn’t have to. They slotted together so seamlessly, so easily, that all Clint wanted to do was let their relationship change this slightest bit without any words.

Bucky wasn’t one to really start conversations, but Clint wasn’t too surprised when he spoke up after a while, his voice rough from sleep. “Do you…. Want to talk about this?” he asked slowly, and Clint couldn’t help but grin to himself. Of course Bucky would ask that; he was trying to do the right thing, even though Clint could tell by the sound of his voice that he would really rather not. 

“We probably should,” Clint mused, before he grinned mischievously. “But I think I’d rather just kiss you.”

Bucky looked up at him, startled by how frank he was, before looking just a touch nervous. If Clint didn’t know him so well, he wouldn't have even noticed the slight furrow that formed between his brows. Clint immediately pressed his thumb there, smoothing out the lines on instinct. 

“We don’t have to though. This is nice too. You make a good blanket, Barnes,” Clint teased, and Bucky huffed, rolling his eyes at him, before shifting, taking care not to knock Clint’s leg as he rose to his knees, straddling Clint’s hips. Clint felt his breath hitch a little at the movement. He smirked up at Bucky in an attempt to hide how his heart rate had picked up, but he had a feeling Bucky knew anyways.

He stared down at Clint, as if he couldn’t quite believe they were in this position, and Clint felt like he had to agree. It was bizarre. But good. “I don’t want to talk either,” Bucky admitted. “At least…. Not now.” And that was probably smart. A rain check. It would give them both time to figure out what they wanted to say.

But for the moment, Bucky seemed to be done with words, instead choosing to dip his head down to kiss him softly on the lips. Barely a brush, and Clint could feel the scratch of his beard and hair against his face more than he could his lips. It made him huff out an amused breath, his arms coming up to wrap around Bucky's neck as if it were second nature.

“You call that a kiss, Barnes?” he asked, arching an eyebrow with a shit eating grin, and naturally, Bucky took the bait. He narrowed his eyes at Clint, before he dove back in, clearly intent on making Clint take back his words. 

It was a little uncoordinated, but Bucky was seventy years out of practice, so Clint couldn’t blame him. Besides, the desperate way Bucky kissed him was heady in it’s own way, his heart leaping in his chest with the realization that he wanted him enough to press so firmly against his mouth that it made their teeth click together.

Clint moved one of his hands to his jaw, easing Bucky back a little bit. “We have time,” Clint said softly, so soft that it surprised him. From the way Bucky looked at him, it had surprised him too, but before he could comment, Ciint was pulling him back in. 

It was no less desperate, but with Clint taking the lead from Bucky, it got smoother. They melted into each other, Clint sliding his tongue into taste in a way that had Bucky gasping, a noise that made something hot and bright roar to life in his stomach. He tasted the roof of Bucky’s mouth and behind his teeth and traced the outline of his bottom lip, wanting to draw more of those surprised noises out. 

The kisses bled together, and he felt as though he wouldn’t ever get tired of this. Would never get enough of the feel of his stubble against his face, the way his eyelashes fluttered against his cheek when Clint nipped his bottom lip. When Bucky did pull away, it was to trail kisses down his jaw, open mouthed and hot against his skin as he continued down, only pausing to suck a mark into the side of his neck. Clint hissed at the sting, his fingers tangling in his hair to steady himself. Bucky growled at that, and a pure shot of arousal thrummed through his body. 

He pulled Buck back up to kiss him again, and while it was just as heated, it didn’t progress. He allowed the burn of desire to warm him in the background, but he made no move to press his hips up into Bucky or fumble for his shirt. And Bucky didn’t seem the need to push either, simply enjoying exploring Clint’s mouth leisurely as the urgency faded into something warmer, more gentle, until the kisses were short and sweet, closed mouthed and affectionate. For two ex-assassins with trauma as far as the eyes could see, these touches were reverent, gentle, and Clint felt nothing but content as Bucky finally pulled away and rested his head against his shoulder.

He was breathing heavy (they both were), and it made Clint chuckle. “Okay there gramps? Wasn’t too much for you, was it?” he teased, and he couldn’t help but laugh when Bucky growled into his shirt. 

“Shut up,” he mumbled, and Clint hummed a little bit, shaking his head. “Just for you. And just this once,” he said, acquiescing. This time Bucky laughed, a soft chuckle as he pulled his head back, his eyes gleaming with amusement, his puffy lips curling up into a smirk. 

“Sap,” he bit out, the word having none of the sting Bucky was trying for, and Clint feigned outrage. 

“Take it back! Or I’ll kick you out,” Clint demanded, but Bucky just arched an eyebrow that seemed to say ‘you won’t.’ And damn him he was right. Because he was soft for this stupid asshole, and now he knew it, fucker.

But as Bucky leaned in to kiss him again, Clint decided that maybe that wasn’t all too bad anyways. 

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, thanks a ton to Queerily_kai who created the amazing art work this fic is based off! 
> 
> And thank you, the reader, for doing just that: reading! If you're so inclined, leave a comment to tell us what you think! 
> 
> Love you all, and here's to another year!


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